


OC Flash Fiction

by sootnose



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fuel Interface, M/M, Oral Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 14:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootnose/pseuds/sootnose
Summary: A place for me to collect my random flash fics involving my OCs.





	1. Blackpowder/Caldera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caldera, a former loudmouth Decepticon exiled into the Insecticon-infested wastes of Cybertron.
> 
> An Insecticon who followed him around to "clean up" the drained cyberfauna he left behind.
> 
> It wasn't sudden, but almost inevitable.

Caldera is running on literal fumes when the Insecticon offers him an energon line, disconnected from its own frame on one end, with its thick energon welling up in the tube.

There really isn't much of a choice involved in accepting it. Caldera has lost a lot of his pride over the time he has been scraping by here.

The Insecticon never denies him after that, even after they start finding Cyberfauna to drain again. It's not the kind of fuel that would get wind under Caldera's wings, but there's something about it.

And then, on a whim, Caldera once returns the offer to the Insecticon.

Instead of drinking from the line, the Insecticon attaches it into a fuel port on its frame. Caldera's optics widen, and he scrambles to do the same.

Caldera's frame always tries to filter out the excess metals and everything else dissolved in his Energon. He's been scraping his filters clean and re-using them for who knows how long now. His Energon is thin and flowing and the feeling of the Insecticon's Energon in his lines is different. It's higher in temperature and all Caldera can think of is molten lava but _good_. His fans kick up a notch and he can't tell whether it's from the heat or the _heat_ suffusing his circuits.

Caldera watches the Insecticon with fever-bright optics. It leans close, nuzzles its fierce face against his cheek.

Caldera can't help himself.

It's been so long since he's last felt this kind of touch. He can barely remember what he'd said, before-- he can only remember the venomous tone and the loathing he'd denounced the Insecticons' mere existence with, but the _why_ just isn't there.

When he kisses the Insecticon's face feverishly, all but crawls into its arms, it doesn't respond. After a moment it places its heavy-arm claws atop his hands, stopping them where they are. It trills questioningly at him, like it thinks he doesn't know what he wants.

Caldera _begs_ it to touch him, please, _please_.

Afterwards he wonders why he doesn't hate himself for what he has done.

He wants more.

He has a newfound taste for the Insecticon's strange cord, its texture and ridges and the way it locks their frames together, almost forcing a post-coital cuddling session.

But the fuel interface is something Caldera can't get enough of. It's like crossing cables, but never has he experienced the same primal oneness with anyone as when their Energon mixes together far enough that it feels thick in Caldera's lines and thin in the Insecticon's.

On a purely functional note, Caldera finds his filters don't accumulate as much gunk after they started doing this. Small patches of thickened metal build up inside Caldera's plating, when his frame doesn't know where to funnel the excess of metal into, but he wasn't flying anywhere either way.

He feels like he's standing on the precipice of something when he opens his chestplates for the Insecticon. He knows there's no return when it cups his cheek with its sickle-claws and gathers him in its arms before its chest plating parts for him.

There are a few things Caldera is confident about.

The Insecticon is as much a person as he is.

And Caldera wants to be his, frame, spark and mind.


	2. Supercell/Whirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supercell, a tiltrotor with a multitude of issues, but at least Whirl isn't one of them.

Supercell had heard the Wreckers were back in town, so of course she headed for the training grounds. Maybe Whirl would be there, and they could spar like they always had. Or, well, had once she had finally managed to get on an even footing with him. Before that, it had been training. And before it had been a beatup to get rid of an annoying brat, but Supercell hadn't accepted that.

So this was where they were now.

With Supercell holding onto the protrusion at the bottom front of Whirl's helm, looking him in the optic, and telling him she figured he could show her the ropes in another physical thing, that wasn't fighting.

Whirl certainly saw no reason to deny her.

Perhaps, if Supercell had been after a mindblowing experience, she should have asked Springer, or pretty much anyone else, but she didn't really care for that. She just wanted it done and over with, and Whirl was familiar.

So she wasn't disappointed that Whirl just told her to open her vanity plating and get on his lap. He was giving clear instructions, she had nothing to complain about.

It was probably lucky that Supercell was bigger than Whirl though, because there wasn't much preparation to be done with those claws. Whirl considered her enough to tell her to use her fingers a bit first, but he wasn't a patient mech, and really, Supercell had used her fingers enough to not have the patience for them either.

Supercell lowered her bared valve against Whirl's cord housing with the tip of the cord just barely peeking out, enough to part Supercell's valve folds and brush over the sensitive sensor nodes. She repeated the movement, grinding down harder, her prickly EM field flaring and rounding down. Whirl's shatter-edged field answered hers, their sharp edges slotting between each other without grace or fit, sweeping over plating in an almost-tactile unpleasant and pleasurable burr.

Supercell reached out, pressed her palm to the back of Whirl's neck and leaned to the side enough that she could reach the side of Whirl's helm and press sloppy open-mouthed kisses there, use her sculpted lips to mouth at seams like they were forged for such detailwork.

Whirl's EM field swelled, pushed against Supercell's plating. His cord rose against Supercell's valve. Whirl closed his claws over Supercell's thighs and rotated his hips, seeking the snug embrace of her valve mesh. 

Supercell snickered and licked at the side of Whirl's helm, tracing his seams with her digits, revelling in the heat that built in his frame and field.

Supercell frotted against Whirl's fully extended cord, then rose above him, depriving him of the touches of her smiling lips and five dextrous digits, but after the shallowest dip giving him the all-around press of her valve mesh.

His hips wanted to snap into the hot hug of her valve, his single optic glowed bright as he looked up at her as she lowered herself slowly against the pull of Whirl's claws against her thighs, heedless of the furrows their press left in her surface plating.

***

"If you're so keen to show off your mouth, it better be on my cord", Whirl said, static buzzing over his vocalisations.

Supercell paused, considered, rose off his cord, wringing yet another ragged moan from him. She stepped to the floor, folded her legs under herself and took a hold of the base of Whirl's cord, licking a wide swathe up it from her thumb up to the tip, her optics intent on Whirl's optic. It brightened further. 

A smile curled the corners of Supercell's lips, dimples pressing divots into her cheeks. She diverted her vents to her mouth and let them billow over the metal of the cord. She pressed a plush kiss on the tip.

Whirl's hips bucked. "Fragging tease", he accused, raising a claw next to Supercell's helm, a threat or a push.

"Guilty as charged", Supercell said slowly, pushing back, each word distinct and releasing new gusts of air against the hot plating.


End file.
